iPod Challenge
by FHGVZEhyde
Summary: Ten drabbles on my favorite pyro. Completed!
1. Chapter 1: Catscratch Fever

**iPod Challenge**

I borrowed this challenge from the Glee section, which I've been obsessed with. It's basically putting your iPod on shuffle, taking the first ten songs that pop up, and writing a story. Now, originally, the challenge was to write a story based on a certain character during the length of the song. Once the song finished, you were finished. I didn't like that. So I have the ten random songs, but one chapter per each song. They won't be very long and they don't necessarily exist in the same timeline. They are just disjointed drabbles. My character is Hotstreak, because I am obsessed with him and probably always will be. No amount of new awesome musical TV shows will change that.

Note: These stories will contain strong language and graphic violence, so fair warning. Also, be prepared for the most random combination of songs you have ever seen.

Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock or its characters.

**Chapter One: Catscratch Fever - Ted Nugent**

Francis knew he was walking on thin ice. He was teetering on the brink of cold, icy death and his salvation was crumbling into the dark depths beneath him.

He was juggling two girls at once and they were about to find out.

Francis would never admit to being afraid of anything out loud (in his head hospitals loom large and ominous) but his heart is racing faster than he's ever felt it move and he thinks this is maybe what having a stroke feels like.

Not like he would live long enough to ever have a stroke. Not at this rate anyway.

Francis likes Teresa. He does. Really. Like…a lot. More than he's ever liked a girl before. She's funny and pretty and she didn't freak out when he had a melt down one night after getting his ass kicked by Static and nearly destroyed the MetaBreed's hideout. Most girls ran the other way when they saw his temper. It's not Francis' fault, just, sometimes he loses it and it and he can't stop himself.

Then there was Maria. Who is completely psycho. That was pretty much out there from the very beginning. She's unpredictable, but that's probably why Francis likes hanging out with her. He doesn't like being bored. Plus, you know, she's a total hottie.

Francis started his descent down this slippery slide of doom when Maria crawled into his room at the empty warehouse he was sharing with the MetaBreed. He wasn't a member or anything. He hated Ebon too much to take orders from the douche, but it was winter and he needed a place to crash. So in exchange for helping pull some heists, Francis got free room and board.

It was the middle of the night, the wind was howling pretty loud. Francis puts the blame on that for not hearing the window creak open. He was a really light sleeper. A few months of living on the street had taught him that. He practically jumped out of his sleeping bag when a cool, wet hand slithered across his chest.

Francis sat bolt upright, stopping short of banging his head into Maria's, who was leaning over him. "Hi."

Stupidly, oh so stupidly, Francis forgot where he was and offered up his own smirk to match his crazy girlfriend's. "Hey."

Maria looked down at the sleeping bag. "Is there room for two?"

Francis was unzipping the bag and scooting over before Maria had finished asking. She shimmied into the bag and entwined her legs around Francis'.

A second later, there was a knock on the door. Francis' emerald green eyes widened in a sudden panic. It couldn't be.

"Francis?" It was Teresa. Of course it was. Who else would it be?

Maria looked up at the pyro. "Who is that?"

Francis locked his gaze on the ceiling. "…uh."

The door cracked open. "Francis? I had a bad dream and the wind is so loud, would it be alright if I…" Teresa stopped short at the sight of her boyfriend entangled in a sleeping bag with another girl.

She was only at a loss of words for a brief moment. "What in the hell! Who the hell are you. What the fuck are you doing?"

"Excuse me?" Maria shot back. "Who in the hell are you?"

Teresa stormed across the room and yanked Maria's hair, pulling her out of the bag. "Get away from him!"

"Maria swirled to her feet and screamed, throwing herself at Teresa. The two girls went tumbling.

Francis meekly crawled out of the bag and away from the battleground. "Fuck fuck fuckity fuck." He growled to himself.

The girls were still trading blows but were now exchanging insults in rapid Spanish too fast for Francis to follow. His eyes darted from one to the other as if he were watching a tennis match.

Teresa whirled around to face Francis, her eyes brimming with tears. "Is it true?"

Maria looked smug. Whatever had been said hadn't been nice.

Francis looked at Teresa and felt like a bigger douche than Ebon. "What?"

"That you love her. That you only want to sleep with me and than go be with her."

Without thinking, Francis shook his head. "No. No fucking way. If anything it's the other way around."

Maria's face fell.

"I'm so sorry T. I'm an idiot." Francis didn't even see Maria's face turn from sadistic glee, to sorrow, to horror. He didn't want Maria. He wanted Teresa.

Teresa turned away. Francis desperately scrambled to his feet. "Please!"

The two met eyes. Teresa knew what that meant. What it meant for Francis to beg. What he was sacrificing for her. The tiniest of smiles crept onto her feathered face.

"You son of a bitch!" Maria lunged at Francis. He had been so focused on Teresa he didn't even see his crazy now ex-girlfriend coming. She doused him in water and started pummeling his face and chest with her tiny fists. It didn't really hurt but Francis brought his arms up to try and protect himself.

Teresa grabbed Maria and hurled her away from Francis. "Get outta here before I send your molecules scrambling."

Maria raised herself up and leveled a glare at Teresa. The other girl raised one eyebrow and opened her mouth, prepared to send a seismic scream.

Maria jumped to her feet and dashed for the door.

Teresa walked over to Francis and stood over him, one foot on either side of him. He looked up at her.

Teresa looked down at him. "You are now officially my bitch."

Francis nodded quickly "Ok." His brow furrowed. "Are you gonna make me leave?"

Teresa's face softened. "No, of course not. There's a blizzard going on." Teresa smiled.

The corner of Francis' mouth quirked into a smirk. "You do know that was officially the hottest thing ever."

He received a kick in the side. Francis rolled away, chuckling.

"Get in that bag." Teresa ordered, pointing at the discarded sleeping bag.

Francis rushed to obey.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So? What do you think? Any good? Worth continuing? I can promise they get better as they go along. And there are ten. I have written four as of this moment and have outlines for the rest.

PLEASE REVIEW!

FHGVZEhyde


	2. Chapter 2: Running Away

Disclaimer: Still don't own Static Shock

**Chapter Two: Running Away - Hoobastank**

It had been five years since the Big Bang. Four since Ebon's second staged Bang, dubbed the Encore. Three since Teresa Garcia and Francis Stone had left Dakota and moved to Gotham.

It was these milestones that ran through Teresa's mind now, as she sat in their apartment. At the time, they had been so young. Francis _really_ young. He was eighteen. Teresa was twenty. They had been dating and running for their lives.

Three years ago it had seemed terrifying and exhilarating. Their relationship was hot and heavy and they depended on each other for everything. Then they had left Dakota when Ebon put a price on Francis' head and every newly created metahuman had tried to tear the pyro apart.

But that was three years ago. Three long years ago. Teresa hated to think it, she loathed the very thought for crossing her mind, but their relationship was driving itself into the ground. Francis worked two jobs, lying about his age and name, hiding his powers, and it was all for her.

Teresa worked nearly twelve hour days. She and Francis were so exhausted when they got home, if they were even home at the same times, that they barely talked or did anything for each other anymore. They were still so young. Teresa saw the faraway look in Francis' eyes. He was moving away from her.

She loved him. Teresa knew Francis loved her too, even if he had never said it. He had trouble saying things like that.

For the first time in nearly three years, Teresa had taken the day off from work. When Francis got back from his double shift at the mechanics down the block, they were going to talk. If he wanted to leave, and he had a damn good reason for it, Teresa wouldn't stop him. But if it was because they were tired and drifting…that could be fixed. She would make the effort. This relationship could be saved.

Teresa heard Francis pounding up the stairs. He pushed open the door, his back to Teresa. Francis kicked his shoes off and turned. He stopped short at the sight of his girlfriend sitting calmly at the kitchen table, a cup of tea sitting untouched in front of her.

"T?" Francis asked, shrugging his jacket off. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Teresa smiled, despite the thoughts racing through her mind. Francis had a grease stain smudged across his forehead and he was completely oblivious to it. It was adorable.

"I wanted to talk to you." Teresa glanced at the empty seat across from her.

Francis looked nervous suddenly but he crossed the room, pulled the chair out, spun it around, and straddled it. He waited for Teresa to start.

Teresa studied her boyfriend for a moment. His hair, cropped short and dyed a white blond. Deep, dark circles under his eyes. But those same green eyes were bright and clear. He was so young.

"Do you want to break up with me?" Teresa asked, point blank. Why bother beating around the bush?

Francis looked away, out the window, at the ceiling…anywhere but at Teresa. "I…yeah I think so."

Teresa nodded. "Can you tell me why?"

Francis looked at her again. "I'm not happy, you're not happy. What other reason is there?"

Running her finger along the rim of her teacup, Teresa shook her head. "I think you're taking the cheap way out."

Francis jerked his head up, mouth opening in protest. Teresa cut him off. "No, let me finish. I've been thinking a lot about this. We are in a three and half year relationship and we've never gone to that next level. I love you Francis and you don't have to say it back, I understand. " Francis looked grateful. "But beyond our initial lust we haven't discussed where this relationship is heading, what our feelings are, what we want, what our desires are, our dreams, our hopes. Relationships are supposed to hit that next level. That's how they grow and last." Teresa took a deep breath. "We hit a plateau and we never tried to get past it. If you're willing to give that next level a try, so am I." She looked directly at Francis. "I _want_ to try."

Francis shook his head and stood. "I'm sorry T. I am. It's not you, it's me and I don't mean that in the cheesy break-up way. It's true. I can't do this." He stalked to the door.

"What are you running from?" Teresa followed after him.

Francis whirled on her. "Do you want the truth! Is that you want? You really want me to say it?" He grabbed her arms. Teresa saw the fury Francis worked hard to keep dormant bubbling to surface.

"Yes, that's what I want." Stay calm and Francis will be calm. He'll force himself. It was a well-practiced routine.

"I...I…love you too. But it's been eating at me for three years and I can't take it anymore." Francis paused. "I'm going back to Dakota."

If Teresa had been expecting to hear something, that wasn't it. "What?" The weight of what he had said hit her. "You want to fight Ebon."

Francis let go of her and stepped back. "You can't do that. He's got half the metahumans in the city backing him. It'd be like going up against a little army. It'd be suicide!" Teresa felt a panic rise in her.

"Not if I had Static and Gear with me." Francis said slowly.

"Do you?" Teresa was surprised.

Francis nodded.

"You've been talking with them?"

Another nod. "For the past few months. I'm going."

Teresa latched herself to Francis' chest. "No, you'll die. You'll all die. Ebon won't let you walk away. I won't let you. You've been trying to distance yourself from me for months so you could walk away and I wouldn't be hurt when you didn't come back. You selfish bastard, I won't let you."

Francis rested his head on top of hers and wrapped his strong arms around her. "I have to. For me, for Dakota. That place has gotten even shittier. Static and Gear can't keep all the new metahumans in line. We need to take down the leader, than the rest will fall."

Teresa's back shook as she began sobbing silently. The front of Francis' shirt grew wet. He rubbed her back and waited.

After a moment, Teresa tugged on Francis' shirt, pulling him into the kitchen. She wet a cloth and cupped Francis' chin with one hand, dabbing the grease stain from his forehead, tears still silently streaming down her face. A trickle of water from the washcloth ran down Francis' cheek, mirroring her own tears.

Francis leaned down and kissed Teresa on the forehead. She pulled her head down to kiss him on the lips. Francis steered her towards the bedroom.

* * *

Dawn had just cracked over the skyscrapers of Gotham. A soft morning light crept in the bedroom window of Teresa Garcia and Francis Stone's apartment. Teresa herself lay entangled in the blankets, a smile on her sleeping face. For the first time in months, she looked blissfully happy.

Francis felt a smile of his own form as he stared at his sleeping girlfriend, trying to remember her as she was at this perfect moment. He was fully clothed and a full backpack was slung over his shoulder.

In that early morning hour, when everything is a soft gray and the world is still deep in slumber, Francis ran away.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I tried to upload this three days ago but FF decided it didn't like the file. Harumph.

Anyway, what do you think? This chapter was supposed to head in a completely different direction but as I was writing, this came out. Kinda serious and melancholy huh?

PLEASE REVIEW!


	3. Chapter 4: Trashin' the Camp

Disclaimer: Still don't.

**Chapter Four: Trashin' the Camp - Phil Collins and 'N Sync**

Francis lay on his back, hands under his head, and stared at the ceiling. The prison was silent, the buzzing of the energy walls in the metahuman wing the only audible sound. It was the middle of the night. Francis couldn't sleep. The other metahumans, Shiv, Puff, Carmendillo, were snoring peacefully in their cells.

Something was going to happen.

Francis could feel it. There was an energy in his bones, forcing him to stay awake. The same tingling anticipation he used to get when he saw a really flawless opportunity unfold on the soccer field before anyone else or in that moment before he revealed himself in a crowded bank, a handful of flames at the ready.

There was something brewing outside the prison walls and Francis could feel it.

The guard on duty passed by for his fourth round, peering in at Francis. The pyro looked back at him. It was a young guy, older than Francis but that wasn't saying much. Francis was still a minor. He shouldn't even legally be in this prison, but there were certain circumstances. With Francis' powers they couldn't just send him to juvie. He required accommodations that could contain him. The guard looked fresh out of the academy. Francis could tell he wanted to ask why he wasn't asleep. The teenaged pyro offered up a cocky smirk and the guard, startled, moved on. He would pass by again in about eight minutes. Francis had been counting.

As soon as the guard had turned the corner down the hall, there was a shift in the silence. The hair on the back of Francis' neck stood up.

Far off, there was an explosion. It split through the silent night air like a knife. It was followed by another explosion, closer, and then another, even nearer. The other metahumans stirred, panicked by the sudden noise. Francis rolled off his bed and to the floor, covering his head. The final explosion rocked the metahuman wing, punching a hole in the empty cell next to Francis'. The explosion tore through the shared wall, pelting Francis with bits of dry wall.

Dust filled the air, it was difficult to see or breathe. The lights flickered and went out. A siren blared For a split second Francis' mind returned to the night of the Big Bang, the chaos, the smoke, the noise.

Francis rose to a crouch, looking around for danger. He checked himself for injuries. There was cut on his forehead from flying debris, blood was dripping into his eyes. Francis wiped at it with a frown, smearing crimson across his temple. There were smaller lacerations on his arms and back. Overall, he was alright.

The blast had short-circuited the energy walls. Shiv, Puff, and Carmendillo were standing, confused and startled expressions on their faces. They stared at each other for a long moment. The sound of running feet snapped them from their shock.

It wasn't guards coming to secure the area. It was the hundreds of prisoners making a dash for freedom. Carmendillo was the first to move. He scampered on all fours out the gaping hole in the side of the prison and into the night air. The others were not far behind.

Francis was the last to move. He had one foot out when he heard a noise behind him. The red-haired teen turned and saw the guard a little way down the hall. He was lying on his back, completely coated with dust. He was moaning. Even from a distance, Francis saw blood dribbling out the man's side and collecting in a pool around him.

Francis looked outside and the back at the guard. "Damn it." He turned back.

The guard was awake, he had his hands pressed against his side but he was already a chalky white beneath the dust. Debris had split him open like shrapnel in a war zone.

Francis knelt and tugged the guard's jacket off, ignoring the guard's moans. He tore long strips of cloth from it and wound them around the man. He bunched one strip up and stuffed it into the wound. The guard gasped and arched his back in pain, but Francis continued wrapping around the bunch. It would slow the blood flow enough to keep the guard alive until someone found him.

The raucous noise from outside was getting louder. Francis slung one of the guard's arms over his shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Lugging the other man's weight, Francis stepped foot outside into pandemonium.

The inmates were not just running for freedom. They were taking their revenge out on the system.

Several guards lay unconscious in the yard. Their weapons in the hands of the prisoners. Frenzied groups of inmates surrounded other guards, beating them to the ground. There were sounds of a firefight coming from the other side of the penitentiary. Most of the former prisoners were using the debris to completely tear down the rest of the facility. The barbed wire fence was crumpled and men trickled out into the darkness after doing their share of destruction.

Francis stared wide-eyed for a moment, then looked around for the cause of the intial explosions. Across the yard, Ebon was clamping a hand onto Shiv's shoulder, greeting his comrade. Of course, Ebon was breaking Shiv out. The rest of the bedlam had simply been a cover so they could escape easily. To Ebon's right was a kid in a blue overcoat and red cap. Francis recognized him but couldn't remember a name. He caused sonic booms with his chest. That explained the explosions. Ebon called up a portal and the trio vanished in a swirl of black and purple.

There were sudden shouts of panic but few prisoners stopped what they were razing. The familiar figures of Static and Gear were approaching the penitentiary at a break-neck speed. It may be the non-mutated prisoners doing most of the damage, Francis didn't even see Puff or Carmendillo in the chaos, but Static would focus on recapturing the metahumans above all else. He had to get out of there before he was seen.

Francis lay the guard down against an undamaged wall and sprinted around the building. Static would have cut off the main escape route the other inmates were using. Francis would sneak around to the front and walk out through the gates.

He ducked into the shadows when a team of guards ran by, guns drawn and nightsticks at the ready. It would only be minutes before the riot squad arrived. Francis had to be gone by then.

The front of the prison was deserted. Francis ran a few steps towards the gates and stopped. He bent, picked up a rock, and turned to face the prison.

There was an orange glow emanating from within, suggesting a fire had been started. Undoubtedly people were being killed or seriously injured. Many inmates had escaped, including the metahumans. Sirens in the distance signaled the arrival of back-up police. Static would have his hands full for the moment.

Francis smirked. This little riot would be all over the news tomorrow. Shame he wouldn't be in any of the footage.

The young pyro reared back and threw the rock. It smashed through a second floor window, shattering the glass. The tinkling of the shards falling to the pavement mixed with the screams, the roaring of a growing fire, the approaching sirens, the gunshots. The bedlam masked Francis' one little act of rebellion of the night.

Francis smiled in satisfaction, turned, and walked out of the gates. He headed away from the anarchy and towards the city. He had done his share in trashing the place, now he could go.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So yay! Another chapter. I hit a dead end with the chapter after next that I'm trying to work around but other than that things are going smoothly. Sorry this chapter is so short. Oh well. Anyone else think its hilarious that this is the first idea that came to my mind after listening to Trashin' the Camp? I do.

Two things...

1. Since when did Static Shock get the little character thingy, where I can choose a character and get stories about them? I LOVE it! Should have happened sooner.

2. SURVIVOR! Oh how I love you. Anyone else completely obsessed like me? JT is my boy.

Ok, that was random but whatever, season 20 just started so...yeah. Hope you liked the chapter.

PLEASE REVIEW!


	4. Chapter 5: Crazy

_"He's certifiable." -- Richie_

_"We knew that back in the second grade." -- Frieda_

Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock

**Chapter Five: Crazy - The Kooks**

It all started three months ago.

It was recess; Francis was playing baseball with some other second graders. It was a quiet recess. All the kids were minding their own business and playing their own games. Wade Jackson decided to put a stop to that.

Wade was not your average seven year old. He was fairly large and stood almost a foot taller than most of his classmates. Having to live in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city also gave him a reputation for being tough. Wade seemed to relish in his reputation and was no stranger to fighting and misbehaving.

Francis and Wade were the only two kids that attended Dakota Central Elementary who lived on the west side of the city, but while the other kids gave Wade and his gang of kids who tried to be tough a wide berth, Francis was generally accepted by the student body. He was quiet, small for his age, good at sports, and nice to everyone…except Wade. But that feeling was mutual.

Francis tried to be liked. Wade really didn't care what anyone thought of him. So that spring afternoon on the playground, Wade threw caution to the wind and stomped over to the baseball diamond determined to cause some chaos.

The game was in the middle of an inning and Francis' side was at bat. The boys noted Wade and three of his buddies approach and stand idly by first base but didn't stop playing and didn't offer to include them. Francis stepped up to the plate. The first baseman moved back, pounding his glove expectantly. Francis was left-handed and tended to hit to the right side of the field.

The pitcher reared back and threw the baseball, his foot kicking up dust on the gravel field. Francis stepped forward with his right foot. As the ball crossed over home plate, Francis brought the bat around and connected solidly. The ball sailed towards first and veered slightly over the base line. Foul ball.

Francis shook his head in disappointment and stepped back into the batter's box, resuming his stance. It took a moment for Francis to realize the pitcher didn't have the ball. He looked to the first baseman. He didn't have it either.

Wade was tossing the ball from hand to hand, a little smile on his face. The first baseman extended his hand, asking for it back. Wade moved to toss the ball and held up short, laughing when the first baseman flinched.

Cries of protest erupted from every corner of the diamond.

"Hey! Give it back!"

"We're in the middle of a game here!"

Wade looked at Francis. "Come and get it."

There was a chorus of 'oohs' and Francis began walking towards Wade, bringing the bat with him. He stopped a few feet short and held his hand out.

Wade looked behind him at one of his friends and chuckled. That should have been warning enough for Francis but he didn't move. Mistake number one.

In the blink of an eye Wade brought his arm back and chucked the ball point blank at Francis' face.

The smaller boy was on the ground before he knew what had happened.

Feet stampeded over and the boys bent over, peering at Francis.

"Shit, look at his face."

Darkness cleared from the periphery of Francis' vision slowly and he sat up, putting a hand to his face. It came away sticky with blood. His nose throbbed painfully and blood continued to dribble down his face in a steady stream, dripping onto his shirt. His nose was broken. Francis was sure of it. He could taste the blood in his mouth. He felt around tenderly with his tongue, no missing teeth. That was good.

Wade looked impressed with his own handiwork.

Francis looked up at him, eyes watering in pain. Wade was smiling.

Something in Francis snapped just then. His hand curled around the bat lying on the ground beside him and he lunged at Wade.

The rest was a blur. There was a lot of blood, whether it was from Wade or himself Francis didn't know. Boys tried to pull him away, tearing his shirt. Francis jerked away from their grip. A cloud of dust rose up around the scuffle.

A herd of teachers sprinted out of the building and dove into the fray, pulling boys away. The gym teacher grabbed Francis around the waist and bodily lifted the boy away.

At the end, Wade had a shattered arm and Francis was suspended indefinitely.

That was three months ago. Today, Francis sat in a doctor's waiting room. To be specific, it was a therapist's waiting room. His mother was in the office with the doctor discussing him and his mental state. The door was cracked open a little and Francis was listening to every word.

The doctor used big words he didn't understand but Francis was sure they had to do with the results of the tests the doctor had been putting Francis through. Ever since he had been suspended, Francis had spent almost three days a week in this therapist's office. The doctor asked him funny questions, showed him pictures, asked him to draw things. Sometimes they went into an entirely white room that the doctor called sterile and Francis sat on a metal table while the doctor hooked some wires to him and asked questions while looking at a computer. Francis didn't like the doctor's office.

"…unfortunately revealed a slew of psychological issues…"

Francis was sure his mom wasn't understanding much of what the doctor was saying either. She was probably just nodding along to avoid looking stupid.

"…on top of his anger issues…"

Francis wasn't crazy. He knew that. He didn't know why he had to come here. The school was making him. At least they were paying for it. No way his mom could afford this place.

"…Attention Deficit Hyperacticity Disorder is highly treatable…"

It was _one_ fight! The only fight Francis had ever been in. This wasn't fair.

"…shows strong signs of Intermittent Explosive Disorder based on his own descriptions of the incident…"

Wade had started it. Francis was just defending himself. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The doctor and his mom had been talking for a long time. He wasn't crazy. He just probably shouldn't have used the bat.

"…I'd like to discuss possible medications with you…"

Francis looked at the secretary who was busy typing at her desk, to the painting of a sailboat on the opposite wall, to the pattern on the rug. He tapped his foot. He was bored.

The door opened. The doctor and his mom walked out. They shook hands. Francis' mom looked concerned. They both looked at him.

Francis smiled at them.

"This appears to be the end of our sessions Francis." The doctor knelt, smiling confidingly at the little boy. "But if you ever need to talk to anyone or if you have trouble at school again, I'll be here. Okay?"

Francis nodded.

"That's a good boy." The doctor stood and shook hands with his mom again before disappearing back into his office.

Francis and his mom looked at each other. She didn't smile. "Let's go." She sounded tense and tired.

Francis hopped off the chair and scurried after his mom, waving good-bye to the secretary.

Where're we going?" Francis asked, hurrying to catch up.

"The pharmacy."

Francis returned to school a week after that and found that he had not only gotten a reputation for being as tough as Wade, but for being crazy too. Now he was given as wide a berth as Wade. People walked on tip-toe around him. His teacher stopped calling on him. His old friends stopped asking him to play with them.

So Francis kept to himself and eventually some boys who wanted to be tough started hanging out with him, and the reputation stuck. Then it became true.

The rest is history.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I like these little drabbles. They're fun to write. So this song is the one by Gnarls Barkley, just sung by the Kooks, in case you were confused. The quote at the top from the second episode inspired this. Not much else to say right now. I like watching the Olympics. USA! USA! Yup.

PLEASE REVIEW!


	5. Chapter 6: Topsy Turvy

Disclaimer: Still no

**Chapter Six: Topsy-Turvy - From Hunchback of Notre Dame**

It happened on Main Street.

Static and Francis had been locked in battle, as usual. It was evenly matched, as usual. Static's cheerleader, Gear, was rooting his partner on from the sidelines. It wasn't a very serious fight. Static and Francis were exchanging verbal jabs more than punches. A camera crew was recording live; most of the onlookers were hanging around the periphery of the fight, not scared, just amused. They were as used to these sporadic fights as the fighters themselves.

Francis wanted to get out of this without going to jail but even if he did, he could always bust out in a few days, a week tops. Things were so predictable and boring. Someone needed to stir things up.

Unfortunately someone chose to do this on live TV in the middle of Static and Francis' lackadaisical fight.

It happened very quickly.

All Francis heard was the zing of a something very small piercing the air very quickly. It sounded like the whine of a mosquito as it shot past his ear and embedded in Static's neck. Francis stared dumbly as the hero clutched his neck and then dropped to the ground. The crowd went silent.

Gear ran to Static's side and pulled the hero's hand away from his neck. There was a small dart stuck in the skin, drained of what fluid had been inside the capsule, now circulating through Static's system. Backpack jumped off Gear's back and the teenaged genius stuck the empty capsule into a slot in the machine. Gear looked at Francis. He shrugged. "Wasn't me."

"Than who?"

Francis looked over the shoulder the dart flown past and noticed a figure darting away over the rooftops. He jerked his head in that direction. "That guy I guess." Gear followed Francis' gesture and swore. Backpack beeped once and a series of figures flashed over the visor of Gear's helmet. The hero swore again.

"He's been poisoned with muscarine."

Francis gave him a blank expression. Gear rolled his eyes. "It's the chemical in poisonous mushrooms, a stimulant. Some say the Vikings took them before going into battle because it made them feel like they were invincible and they could fight more savagely. It's why they were called the Berserkers."

Francis' expression didn't change. "Shouldn't you be hunting down the dude who just shot your buddy?"

Gear nodded and Backpack clambered up his back. "Yeah, but I can't just…"

The hero trailed off when Static twitched suddenly. Then again. Static opened his eyes and jumped to his feet, grinning hugely. Francis frowned. It was a mean grin. Static never looked mean.

"What was that you said about the Vikings again?" Francis asked.

Static leapt at Francis and tazer punched the older boy in the chest. Francis was blasted back by the electrical force, skidding along the pavement before coming to rest on his back. The front of his shirt was singed.

"V! What are you doing?" Gear grabbed Static's arm and tried to restrain his friend. Static just shrugged him off and began advancing towards Francis again.

The pyro rose to his feet, staring warily at the drugged hero. "You go get that shooter, I got Sparky." He was speaking to Gear but didn't take his eyes off Static.

"But…there's not…I don't think." Gear flailed for an excuse and didn't find one. He couldn't fight his best friend. Not only were his gadgets no use against Static, he had never had to design one that would incapacitate his partner before, but the shooter would get away. "Don't hurt him, just restrain him."

"No promises."

Gear ignited his rocket skates and took off after the unknown assailant.

The crowd had gone very silent and was now watching the two metahumans in a mixture of confusion and astonishment. Some how, the tables had turned. The throng of people didn't know who to cheer for. Something had happened to Static and he was behaving erratically, dangerously. If their beloved hero managed to beat Hotstreak than there was no telling what Static would do next. Somehow, incredibly, at the moment Hotstreak was the good guy and Static was the bad guy.

Static continued walking steadily towards Francis. The pyro snapped his fingers and fire leapt at his fingertips, a coil of flames winding itself around the teen's body. Time for the first serious fight Francis had had in months. Despite the circumstances, it felt good to be serious about kicking ass again. Francis felt a smirk creep onto his face. "Bring it Sparky."

Fire met electricity and onlookers dove for cover. The camera crew huddled behind a parked car, the reporter screaming commentary over the blasts.

Francis and Static were locked hand in hand, struggling against the other for dominance. Normally, Francis would be a lot stronger. On drugs Static was throwing caution to the wind and putting his entire weight on the other boy and was pushing Francis back.

Gritting his teeth, Francis fell to one knee. Static laughed, sparks leaping around his arms. Francis fought back to a vertical base and threw his head forward. His forehead connected with Static's with a sickening thud. Static fell back, clutching his head, a dribble of blood falling from between his fingers.

Francis let out a breath and rolled his shoulders, waiting for Static to get up. He didn't wait very long.

Static was charging at the pyro with a handful of electricity within a heartbeat. Unlike their past battles, this fight was hand-to-hand combat. It was hard to use their powers effectively when it looked like all Static wanted to do was wrap his hands around Francis' throat and squeeze the life out of him. Francis found himself on the defensive and he didn't like it.

Static threw a right hook blazing with sparks and Francis ducked it, grabbing the younger teen's arm and rolling the boy over his back. Francis threw an elbow back where he knew Static's chin would be and was rewarded with the satisfying crack of bone on bone.

Francis darted away before Static could recover and formed a fireball, throwing it at the hero. Static created an electric shield and the flames fizzled harmlessly away. The two stared at each other for a long moment, and then Static put both hands in the air above his head, grinning maliciously at Francis.

Metal objects around the street began to vibrate. Mailboxes, cars, trashcans, anything with metal began to shake and tremble violently as Static imposed his magnetic will on the area. There were screams and shouts of indignation as cell phones and car keys flew out of the pockets of onlookers and floated in the air. Francis looked around and noticed a mailbox being wrenched out of its bolted stand and levitating into the air.

"Shit."

Static brought his hands down in one grand gesture. The objects all flew at Francis at breakneck speeds.

Francis blew a mailbox and a trashcan away with fireballs, ducked under a car door, and jumped to avoid a manhole cover. He ignored the pelting of keys and phones as they hammered him, preferring to avoid being splattered by larger objects. He felt his skin being torn open by the jagged edges of small metal and growled in anger. Francis felt for all the fire within him and brought it to the surface. With a cry of adrenaline, he pushed the fire out of him and into the air; a swirl of flames burst around him and melted everything within ten feet. Francis pulled the fire back, felt his eyes go from a fiery red back to their normal green. Then he heard the crowd gasp. Francis whirled around in time to get smacked by a car.

The world went completely dark for a moment. Francis fought the urge to pass out, shaking his head roughly to clear his head. His body had taken the impact but the back of his head had cracked painfully against the pavement. Francis opened his eyes. He was lying flat on his back, spread-eagled. His chest hurt…a lot. It was painful to breathe.

All he could do was lie there. Francis felt something nudge his leg and looked up. Static was standing over him, one foot on either side of his body, smiling. Francis honestly could not make his body move. Static raised his fist ominously and it sparked blue. Francis' eyes widened. He was about to die. Static was going to kill him.

Static knelt, straddling Francis still, and grabbed the pyro's hair, pulling Francis' head up a little to get a better angle.

Francis winced. Static cocked his fist and reared back…then convulsed suddenly. The young hero fell to the side, trembling and spasming. The electricity died from his fist as Static bucked wildly.

Francis took the opportunity to gather himself and what strength he had left, rolling away from Static, trying to get some distance between them. The drug was taking over Static's nervous system.

The convulsions were dying down, Francis saw Static's eyes clearing. He had only seconds before the hero would be back on the attack. Francis got to his knees painfully and considered his options. There was one more weapon in his arsenal. He had never tried this particular move before and had no idea how it would work out, or whether he could even do it as weak as he was. Static was getting to his feet. Francis shrugged and got to his feet as well, clutching his chest. Why the hell not? It was the only thing left to try.

Static turned and saw Francis, grinned, and ran at the pyro. Francis closed his eyes, took a deep breath and felt inside once again for all the fire left within him. It would not be like his burst of flame from before; he would not be able to call it back. Francis was about to drain himself completely. If this didn't work he was doomed. He felt the fire and in one swift movement, Francis opened his eyes, brought his hands forward, and thrust everything he had left at the charging Static. Flames leapt into existence at his fingertips and exploded at Static.

The hero was caught in the chest by the blast that as much force behind it as a sonic boom and was thrown backwards, flying into a brick wall. Static crumpled unconscious to the pavement and did not move.

Francis sunk to his knees, breathing heavily. He was coated with sweat and blood from a myriad of little cuts. He wrapped one arm around his chest, trying to take deep even breaths despite the pain. It was only after a few minutes that Francis realized the crowd was cheering…for him. It was so ironic Francis had to laugh, and immediately regretted doing so because it hurt. It felt good though. That had been the best fight Francis had ever had and he had won. Better yet, the entire city had seen him beat Static.

If only things were this interesting all the time.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Yeah, so, remember that chapter I said I was stuck on? It's this mess. When I listened to the song my only thought was Hotstreak do good, Static do bad. I just couldn't figure out what Hotstreak would do good and what Static would do bad. Like, nothing came to mind at all. This was the best I could come up with, so, sorry. Least favorite chapter right here. Also muscarine...that's what I get for writing this during science class. Le sigh. I do believe the artist is Paul Kandel but I'm not sure so don't quote me on that.

PLEASE REVIEW! Seriously, I am feeling a distinct lack of love.

FHGVZEhyde


	6. Chapter 7: Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride

Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock, and I've forgotten in past chapters to note that I also do not any of the songs in this story.

**Chapter Seven: Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride – From Lilo & Stitch**

It was cold. Teresa shivered uncomfortably and snuggled closer to Francis' chest. They were alone on a mattress in the main room of the Breed's underground subway hideout. Ebon and Shiv were who knows where and a blizzard was raging aboveground. Below ground it was freezing. Teresa was bundled in as many coats and blankets as she could find and she was still cold, so she persuaded Francis to be her personal heater.

Surprisingly he had agreed. He wasn't usually one for the touchy-feely stuff but Teresa wasn't going to complain. The younger metahuman was deliciously warm and his chest made for a nice pillow.

Francis stared at the tiled ceiling, playing idly with a strand of Teresa's hair, brow furrowed in thought. The feathered girl nestled into his side looked up at him and smiled. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Nah." Francis laughed. "They're not worth that much."

Teresa giggled and sat up a little. "I'm mad at you."

"Why?"

"Look at you! It's below zero and you're wearing a sweatshirt with the sleeved rolled up. You're not even a little cold and I'm freezing my feathers off!" Teresa pulled at the offending sweatshirt and pouted petulantly.

Francis laughed again. "Yeah, my powers are pretty kick ass."

Teresa nuzzled back to her original position. "You're not going to get an argument from me."

The two were silent for a moment, listening to the howling of the wind down the empty tunnels. It was getting late. Francis felt his eyes slowly closing. He was so warm and cozy and it was nice to have a girl with her arms wrapped around him.

The pyro was just drifting off when Teresa broke the silence. "Francis?"

"Hmm…?"

"If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would it be?"

Francis didn't answer. Teresa nudged his side. "Well?"

"I dunno, can't think of anywhere."

Teresa frowned a little, and then smiled. "I'd like to be in Hawaii." She felt Francis' body shake with silent chuckles. "Don't laugh. It'd be nice and the people there are nice and I could just lounge on the beach all day. I've never seen the ocean."

"I've never left Dakota." Francis said quietly.

"Never?" It seemed impossible.

"Nope."

"Huh." Teresa considered this revelation for a moment. "Well, would you like to go to Hawaii?"

Francis shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Who doesn't?"

Teresa gave a little laugh. "You're no fun. C'mon…why would you want to go?"

"…I've always wanted to learn how to surf."

That was surprising. Teresa sat up to look at Francis' face. His eyes were closed. He seemed to be half-asleep. "That's cool."

Francis nodded. "It always looked like fun."

"Would you teach me?" Teresa settled back, wrapping one of Francis' arms around her.

"Sure."

"Promise?"

Francis shook with silent laughter again. "If I ever learn how to surf, I promise I will teach you."'

"Pinky promise." Teresa held out her hand, pinky finger extended.

Francis linked fingers with her.

Teresa smiled. "I'm gonna hold you to it."

"I know."

Silence again.

Teresa traced circles on Francis' palm. "I'd like to be in Hawaii right now. Sitting on the beach, with the sand between my toes, a warm breeze blowing the palm trees, looking at the sun setting over the ocean and watching the sky go through all the colors of the rainbow." Teresa paused. "Watching you surf in the dying sunlight, me waving from the shore."

Francis was quiet. Not asleep, just listening. It was as good a bedtime story as he had ever heard.

"You know," Teresa put Francis' hand down. "That's about as close to paradise as I can picture. I wish something like that could actually happen." She looked around at the empty hideout, the dirty, graffiti smudged walls, the litter, the bare fluorescent light bulb, the snowdrifts piling in the stairwell and sighed heavily. "Oh well. It's a nice dream. Something to think about on cold lonely, nights like this."

"You're lonely?" Francis asked suddenly.

"Well…I…"

"I'm not." Francis held Teresa tighter, as if to prove a point.

"No, I guess I'm not lonely. Just cold."

Francis smirked sleepily. "I can fix that."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Okay, I really want to apologize for this chapter being so short. I kinda ran out of stuff for them to talk about. Oh well. The guy who sings this has a really long Hawaiian name that I don't really want to attempt to spell out, but his first name is Mark. Yay!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	7. Chapter 8: New Slang

Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock or the songs.

**Chapter Eight: New Slang – The Shins**

"You know what we should do?"

"No."

"We should make up a new word!"

Francis grabbed the edge of the car and slid himself out from under the engine. "What?"

Shiv sat cross-legged on the hood, looking down at the pyro. "We should make up a word! You know, like…" the older boy cocked his head and looked off into the distance as he thought. "…like chillax or d'oh or ginormous or…"

"Shiv."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Shiv frowned. "Aw c'mon. We could make up some new slang and people would use it all the time and then they'd put it in the dictionary and then we'd be famous. That would be so cool!"

Francis stared at Shiv and then slid back under the car.

"Ok, ok. I'll start." Shiv rocked back and forth on the hood. "It should be short, and easy to say." The purple-haired teen giggled suddenly. "It should sound funny too."

There was no answer from under the car.

Shiv lay flat on his stomach and dangled his head over the side of the vehicle. "Are you listening?"

Still no answer.

Frowning, Shiv kneeled on the hood, and then grinned wickedly. He stood up and jumped as high as he could. He came crashing down on the hood with a delighted cackle.

Francis jumped, hit his head on the engine, and swore very loudly. "For fuck's sake you psycho! What the hell!"

"Pay attention to me!"

Crawling out from under the hood, Francis leveled an icy glare at the other metahuman. "You are so weird."

Shiv just smiled.

Francis sighed. "Fine, whatever. Just come help me."

"Ok." Shiv slid off the hood and crouched by the toolbox next to Francis.

Francis slid back under and reached a hand out. "Gimme the socket wrench." Shiv looked into the toolbox.

"Yeah, socket wrench." He considered several tools, grabbed one at random and thrust it under the car to Francis. The sounds of tinkering stopped and was followed by a frustrated growl from Francis.

"Seriously dude?"

"Is that not it?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Red handle."

Shiv pulled the wrench with a red handle from the box and passed it to Francis. "So I was thinking our word should be fun to say, that way people would want to say it, you know?"

"Like what?" There was a curse followed by the twisting of metal. Shiv looked under the car. Francis wiped at his eyes, his face was covered in black gunk. "Hand me the rag will ya?"

Shiv continued passing items to Francis as the pyro ordered and the two teens shot made-up words back and forth.

"Amazazing, for when something is beyond amazing."

"You amazorize me."

"You know when a girl's got a really slamming ass, she should be asstastic."

"Awesomnity, the condition of being awesome. I suffer from it myself."

"Zummers."

"What does it mean?"

"Hell if I know, sounds cool though, right?"

"Bazookicidal."

"What?"

"When someone pops someone else's bubble, they commit bazookicidal."

"Nizzards."

"Sounds gross, um, jiboo."

"Oobleck."

"Gliss."

"Wumbus."

"Gootch."

"Booshwaggled."

"Bambombatong."

They stopped the rapid-fire. Francis slid out and stared at Shiv. "What was that last one?"

"Bambombatong." Shiv smiled.

"I like that one."

"Really?" Shiv was delighted. "That's my favorite too! How much fun is it to say? Bambombatong, bambombatong."

"Bambombatong." Francis muttered. "Yeah, but what does it mean?"

Shiv shrugged. "The meaning comes later. We just have to introduce it so society and let them figure out a meaning."

"Yeah okay, you do that." Francis smirked. "Hand me the screwdriver and I'll finish this up."

Shiv handed Francis the tool and shot to his feet, racing for the door to introduce bambombatong to the world.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Mmmm...I don't know what to think of this one. Some parts I like, some make me cringe. Oh well. I did not make up those words btw. I borrowed some from Dr. Seuss and some from Urban Dictionary. I'm creative, but not that creative. Does anyone watch Psych? Yes, no? I do. The season finale last night was beyond mind-blowing. I have no words for it. It was bambombatong. Which is seriously fun to say.

PLEASE REVIEW!


	8. Chapter 9: When You Were Young

Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock or these songs.

**Ch****apter Nine: When You Were Young – The Killers**

Sharon looked around the cluttered office and sighed heavily. "Daddy, this place is a mess. How can you keep track of anything?"

Robert Hawkins stood in the doorway, a sheepish grin on his face. "Things just got away from me these past couple of years. I was hoping you could help me straighten things up while you were on break."

Sharon shook her head in amusement. "Of course Daddy, but you have an entire Center to run. Leave this mess to me."

"Thanks sweetheart." Robert kissed his daughter on the forehead. "If you have any questions I'll be in the gym, they're installing the new basketball hoops today."

"I'll be fine Daddy. Its just papers." Sharon smiled and waved her father away before surveying the office again.

There were papers and folders everywhere. Some were stapled into stacks, others were lying loose in no apparent order, and there seemed to be personnel files mixed in with financial files. Her father was usually such an organized man, but the paperwork must have gotten the better of him.

Sharon tied her hair back and started with the papers scattered on the desk, undoubtedly the most recent papers.

Over the next few hours, pausing every now and then to get something to eat and check in with her father, Sharon moved from the desk, to the filing cabinet, to the boxes stacked around the room, and now she was on the last bit of clutter in the room...the closet.

The closet was filled with boxes of papers nearly a decade old, yellowed with age and coated with dust. Sharon pulled the first box down from the top of the heap and dug through the contents. It was mostly old news clippings on the Center and photographs of kids enjoying the facilities. The clothes in the photos were dated and Sharon smiled at the fashion of the 90s. In those days kids from the West side often frequented the Center in an attempt by the city to keep them from joining gangs and flooding the penal system with petty crime.

Sharon frowned. Not like it had made that much difference in the long run. The date penciled onto the back of on one of the photos was the year before the Dakota Riots when, for three days, the gangs had run the city and Sharon had lost her mother.

Sharon rifled through the box, threw about half of it in a trash bag and filed the rest so she could add them to the archives.

The next box contained neatly arranged folders. Sharon pulled one and flipped it open. It was a file on a little girl named Meghan Riley. There was a brief paragraph on Meghan's history and a few pages on Meghan's experiences at the Center, including pictures drawn by Meghan and photos of the pig-tailed little girl. Sharon blinked in surprise. The Center had once kept files on the kids?

Sharon continued looking through the files. It seemed as though the they were used to keep track of kids' progress over the years. A file on a Danny Fisher spanned five years. Danny had come to the center as an angry seven year old actively picking fights and being disruptive. After five years Danny was the captain of the Center's basketball team and a community volunteer.

The files documented what steps could be taken to help a child based on observation. Her father hadn't written these documents. A Mr. P. Barnett of the Office of Welfare and Development signed them all. It seemed as though the files were a city-sanctioned project.

Sharon pulled another file and opened it. The name Francis Stone was emblazoned across the top of the document and Sharon wondered why that name was so familiar. She looked through the photos paper-clipped to the file and stared at a little red-haired boy with green eyes. He looked awfully familiar.

After a few moments of studying the photos, Sharon gasped and slapped the file shut in recognition. Francis Stone was Hotstreak. The very same metahuman Hotstreak who terrorized Dakota on an almost daily basis with his pyrokinesis. Sharon sat with the closed file on her lap for a few minutes before opening the folder again.

Sharon looked more closely at the photos. One was of Hotstreak dangling upside down by his knees from the monkey bars, a grin plastered across his face. Another was of Hotstreak in the gym, shooting a basket. The last was of Hotstreak doing a handstand outside on the blacktop. Sharon found herself smiling at the rambunctious little boy in the photos.

While most files were long and sometimes spanned years, Francis Stone's was very short. There were only a few months documented. What P. Barnett of the Office of Welfare and Development observed was that Francis was a very energetic, athletic, free-spirited eight year old who had a knack for getting into mischief. There was no paragraph detailing Francis' past as in the other files. Sharon frowned and wondered if it had gotten lost in the closet over the years.

It was strange, looking at an innocent child when just two days ago his teenaged self had been setting fire to a Cineplex on Seventh Avenue.

Sharon wondered what had happened over the years. What had made Francis Stone turn into Hotstreak?

The TV on the desk Sharon had set to a news channel as background noise suddenly began broadcasting breaking news. Sharon looked up in surprise and watched a familiar red-haired pyro battle with Static outside the mall. Sharon looked from the photo of an upside down Francis to the Francis on television and shook her head. She put the photo back in the file, shut the folder, and threw it in the trash bag.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

This chapter is weird because Francis isn't actually in it. Is that as weird for you guys as it is for me? Oh well, it's different. Mixing things up a bit. One more chapter to go. Are you sad? Are you relieved?

Last chapter will be up on Wednesday because I'm leaving the country for a while. Look at me, planning ahead. That's new.

PLEASE REVIEW!


	9. Chapter 10: Finale A

Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock, this song, or RENT

**Chapter Ten: Finale A – Original Broadway Cast (RENT)**

Francis was walking back to the Breed's current hideout with a backpack full of pilfered food. Since he was the only member who could wander around in public without arousing suspicion, Francis was usually the one who had to run errands and get them things small enough they couldn't be bothered stealing. Normally, Francis didn't mind. Tonight he did.

It was the coldest night of the winter thus far. It was nearly midnight. For once, Francis wished he had a hat or a coat because he could only risk pushing his body temperature so high and the wind was tearing right through his ratty sweatshirt. Snowflakes were swirling through the air and Francis swore every time he had to swipe the slush off his face to clear his vision. Luckily, no one else was wandering around that night so Francis didn't feel guilty letting loose some frustration with a few tiny fireballs.

He took a short cut through the deserted park. Or at least Francis thought it was deserted.

There was a girl huddled near the fountain. She was wearing a coat many sizes too big for her and was sitting curled up, arms wrapped around her knees. Her head, uncovered, rested on her knees. Her long white hair was whipping around in the wind. Francis stopped at the sight. He stared for a moment and then walked over to the girl.

She didn't move as Francis approached. He knelt in front of her. She showed no sign that she was even aware of him.

Francis cleared his throat.

The girl lifted her head slowly. Her eyes were glazy and her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Her skin was as white as the snow swirling around her face and there were deep, dark circles under her eyes.

"Hi." Francis said, his expression blank.

The girl just stared at him.

"Do you have anyplace to go? It's pretty cold out. Anyplace inside?"

The girl shook her head. "No loose change, no change, no…Santa Claus is coming."

Francis fought to keep his face impassive. "How long have you been sitting here?"

The girl looked off to the side. She didn't seem to be all there. In fact, she clearly wasn't all there. The girl looked half-starved and half-frozen. Francis looked at her and then reached out to touch her exposed hand. Her skin was icy cold, colder than the night air. He jerked back in surprise.

"Are you…are you a metahuman?" How else could she even be alive right now?

The girl turned her head and looked at Francis. Her eyes were a steely blue. She nodded slowly. "No stocking, no candy canes, no gingerbread, no safety net."

Francis sat down cross-legged and ignored her disjointed rambling, wondering what he was supposed to do in this situation. He couldn't just leave her here. By the looks of it the girl was mostly dead. The rest of the frigid night would finish her off for sure.

Then the pyro had a thought. He reached out again, touching her hand. Francis poured a little more heat into his fingers, just short of creating fire. The girl's eyes widened in surprise at the warmth. Suddenly, the girl's white flesh turned back to its original peachy hue. The color spread slowly over her palm and up her wrist like a napkin dipped in coffee. Francis pulled back in shock. The girl shot forward and grabbed desperately onto his arm. Her body shook with sobs.

Francis let her hold onto him, still trying to work out what exactly he should do.

"What's your name?" He asked softly.

"…Maureen."

"Maureen, I don't think you should spend the night here. I've got a place with some friends where you can sleep. It's warm, we've got food. What do you say?" Francis wasn't sure how the Breed would feel about this but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

"Okay." Maureen said in a small voice, sounding very young and very afraid.

Francis stood up with a grin. "Great, c'mon. I'm late as it is."

Maureen didn't move.

"Well…c'mon." Francis raised one eyebrow in confusion.

"My legs, they won't…"

"Oh." She'd either been sitting there for so long her legs had frozen stiff or she was too weak from hunger to get up herself. "Okay." Francis knelt and gently put one arm under Maureen's knees and one behind her back and lifted her into his arms. She hardly weighed anything. She wrapped her hands around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

"See, no problem." Francis gave her smile. Maureen tentatively offered one back.

The two set off through the blizzard.

* * *

"No way. This ain't no homeless shelter. You can just take her back where you found her."

Francis sighed and ran a hand through his spiked hair. "Just listen for a sec Ebon..."

"No you listen." Ebon cut the pyro off. The shadowy leader of the Breed stalked up to Francis and grabbed his shirt, jerking the younger metahuman's face towards his. "I'm in charge here. We don't got enough stuff for the four of us as is, certainly not for no charity case you bring in off the street."

Francis pulled back, breaking Ebon's grip. "Just shut up for a second will ya?"

"What'd you say?" Ebon asked, glowering dangerously.

Francis just smirked, because he knew it would piss Ebon off even more. "Look at her."

Ebon turned to look at the girl Francis had carried in. She was lying on a mattress, wrapped in some blankets. Shiv was sitting beside her, eating a Poptart and staring at this stranger in quiet awe.

Teresa put a hand on Ebon's shoulder. "It's just for one night. She's only a kid."

"I found her in the park. She's been living on the street." Francis said.

"You all are breaking my heart." Ebon muttered.

Francis frowned. Then a thought occurred to him. "You know, she's a metahuman."

That got Ebon's attention, although he tried to hide it. "Yeah?"

"Yup. I was just thinking; if we're nice to her then maybe she'll join the Breed and there's strength in numbers isn't there?" Francis crossed his arms and walked a few steps away. "But if you're set on her leaving, I'll just go wake her up and take her back to the park where she can freeze to death. You're right, she's no problem of ours."

Francis headed towards Maureen. "Now hold on one second." Ebon grabbed Francis and whirled him around. "Maybe I was being a little irrational. It is only one night after all. No harm in that."

Francis looked at Teresa. She was giggling behind her hand.

"Well, you're the boss." Francis said, feigning defeat.

"That's right. Now everybody eat something and go to sleep." Ebon grabbed something out of the backpack Francis had brought back and walked away from the group. "Shit it's cold."

Teresa laughed out loud and hugged Francis. "Do you know how to play him or what? That was great."

Francis grinned. "I am great aren't I?"

* * *

The next morning Maureen was gone, her blankets neatly folded. Ebon yelled at Francis for nearly an hour about wasting supplies on ungrateful little girls but the pyro just sat on his mattress with a little grin.

At least now Maureen wouldn't have to listen to Ebon's recruiting schtick.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Is it ironic that the tenth song to pop up on shuffle was Finale and this is the finale? I think so. Well, it's done. What do you think?

PLEASE REVIEW!


	10. Chapter 3: Used To

Disclaimer: I don't own Static Shock

**Chapter Three: Used To - Daughtry**

When Francis was little, he used to dream about summer time. About having two months off from school and running amok in the old neighborhood with the other kids. From the crack of dawn to the break of midnight, the streets crawled with people. For kids, summer meant freedom.

Francis used to play soccer for hours in the street outside his apartment building. The raggedy old ball raising the dust from the street as dozens of little feet in worn-down Converse sneakers chased after it, heels slapping the pavement. Yells tearing though the air. Sweat dripping. Goals chalked onto brick walls on opposite sides of the street, two brave kids guarding the posts. The Hispanic kids trying so hard to dazzle with the ball, the black kids only wanting the goals and the glory, the white kids trying to make their mark however they could. Judging the way the ball would bounce off the curb and being the first one to get a foot on the rebound became an art. In the crowded melee in the street where no car ever passed, elbows flew and legs jutted. Knees were scraped and noses bled. To play soccer in the summer time on that street meant to get the hell kicked out of you every day and to come back for more. Only the best kids managed to avoid the scraps. Francis was one of the best. He could weave in and out of the other players like the ball was glued to his feet and pound off a curving shot that was a thing of beauty. Francis found that balance between Hispanic, black, and white and ran with it. His skill defied all stereotypes of the street. Shame he gave it up. Everyone said he could have been great.

Francis used to sit on the stoop of his building and listen to the old women talk in Spanish. It's how he became bilingual. He would listen to the men curse at the baseball game on the radio. It's how he learned about sports and how to cuss with the best of them. He would watch the older boys walk by and flirt with the girls hanging around outside the corner store, half dressed in short shorts and tank tops due to the heat, popsicles hanging out of their mouths. The boys only in sweatpants, bare chests glistening with sweat, slinking towards the girls, leering at them, the girls leering back. It's how he learned about sex. He would watch the gang members, sneakily pick-pocketing and tagging graffiti all over the neighborhood, adults offering only half-hearted scolding in an unwinnable battle. It's how he learned to steal. He would watch little boys pretending to be older, carrying knives in their shoes, throwing punches at the slightest provocation. Rolling on the street, kicking, biting, slapping, choking. It's how Francis learned to fight.

Francis used to set off fireworks with other kids during the entire month of July. Throwing handfuls of poppers at each other, running through the streets with sparklers, spelling out their names in the night air. Delighting in the noise of it all, being louder than they were allowed to be any other month of the year. Seeing the buildings lighting up red and green and blue and white as each explosion rattled windows up and down the street. Craning their necks to see how high they went. Dancing on the rooftops as each fuse was lit. The adults sitting back in lawn chairs and simply watching, not yelling or wagging their fingers. Taking a break from discipline. Licking firecracker popsicles, staining the mouth red then blue, throwing the sticks over the ledge to the street. Dotting the rooftops with multicolored drips. Faces and hands sticky with sugar. A month long block party that had the police on standby every night.

Francis used to lie down on the fire escape outside his window at night, back flat against the steel, hands folded under his head, and talk with the girl who lived in the apartment above him. She crawled out of her window and lay on her stomach, peeking through the grating at Francis. Listening to the sounds of the neighborhood and making idle chitchat. Talking about school, about the boy who got shot on the next block, about going to the park, about their parents, about the future, about the games they wanted to play, about the fighting that got so loud in Francis' apartment the girl's mother pounded on the floor, about the old lady who had moved in under the stairwell, about their favorite candy, about being allowed to stay up, about anything there was to talk about on a warm summer evening with the cool steel beneath them and the stars covered by a smog and the lights of a city full of people above them. It was a on such an evening one summer that Francis got up and climbed the ladder to the girl's floor and kissed her. Quickly, chastely. Each summer after that, until Francis' parents divorced and he left the neighborhood, they snuck goodnight kisses when their parents thought they were asleep.

Francis used to duck into the corner store when it got too hot to do anything else. Stand in front of the fan with the others kids, the sweat drying on their faces, licking their wounds from a morning of soccer. Sticking their heads into the freezers until the owner yelled at them. Seeing how many licks it took to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. 328. Holding glass bottles of Coca-Cola to their foreheads, glass shiny with condensation. Daring each other to eat the one green potato chip that came in every bag. Smudging the covers of cheap comics as they thumbed their way through the pages, never buying them. Overstaying their welcome and forcing the owner to kick the gaggle of kids back out onto the steaming sidewalks only to have to repeat the whole ordeal the next day when the midday sun became too much for the little boys.

Francis used to run down to the Center. The Center for Children. During the summer, no kid wants to even step foot onto school grounds, not even to play basketball on the asphalt courts, so when they'd had enough of soccer and of their parents screaming at them to stay out of the way, the kids of the neighborhood boarded a bus and headed downtown. The Center was blissfully air-conditioned and the jolly fat black man in charge was always ready with a smile and a ball. The kids of the West side mingling with kids from all over the city, trying not to start fights so they wouldn't be kicked out. The Center was an oasis in a hazy mess of a city. Basketball courts teeming with kids. A playground overrun. Every few afternoons there were people who would come and sing or read aloud and the kids sat cross-legged on the ground, quiet. Francis liked those days best.

Francis used to love summers in the old neighborhood. It felt like a giant family. A better family than the one Francis had to return to each night. The pampering of the old women, the teasing of the older boys, the camaraderie of the other kids, the owner of the corner store (who despite his grumpiness when faced with a horde of ill-mannered little boys invading his store never failed to hand Francis a frozen lemonade when he went on beer runs for his dad late at night). When he left the neighborhood, Francis used to dream about summertime on the West side. How everything seemed more fun when surrounded by graffiti, chalked hopscotch courts, and white-haired men arguing about dominoes. How nothing ever rivaled the beauty of scuffed sneakers raising a cloud of dust or the sky lighting up in a myriad of colors.

Francis used to be happy.

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**Author's Note:**

Sorry about this but it seems as though chapter three of this drabble collection got a little bit deleted. So I'm reposting it.


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